Tall cool one

by Zoey Dean

  "I'll pay you back for whatever this costs," he told her.

  "Believe me, my father will have his attorneys handle this; it won't cost us anything. They'll probably give him a two-week voucher for a better suite than this one."

  He smiled down at her. "You are something else, Cam."

  She kissed him again. "All of this ... what you planned for us ... it was so sweet. It really would have been 'it' this time."

  "Definitely," he agreed.

  She gazed up at him. "You know what? I'd rather be right here, right now, like this, with you, than having wild sex with anyone else."

  Cammie knew herself to be capable of saying pretty much anything to anyone to achieve whatever it was she wanted to achieve. So the fact that she said this to Adam wasn't bizarre. What was bizarre was that she meant it.

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  A Moratorium

  A nna dragged her board out of the briny water and dug its end into the sand. "I'm sorry, Kai, it's hopeless."

  She'd scheduled a two-hour private surfing lesson with him, vowing that she'd master the damn thing once and for all or at least get one ride on a wave. Kai had been patient and supportive. And this time, there was no need for a wet suit--the ocean had warmed to eighty-one degrees Fahrenheit; practically a bath temperature. Plus the late afternoon had been beautiful-- the air temperature as balmy as the water, the sun bright. Anna had been amazed at the clarity of the light closer to the equator and far from the smog of Los Angeles. The surf had been cooperative, too--three-foot swells, with eleven-second intervals between sets. Kai had pronounced the conditions absolutely perfect.

  But Anna still couldn't surf. Try as she might, every time she got to her feet on the board, she lost her balance and flipped it over. She spent more time in the water by her board than on it. It irked her. For one

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  thing, she hated to fail. For another thing, there was nothing wrong with her balance; years of ballet had proved that.

  "Maybe you ought to try waterskiing," Kai suggested.

  "No. I want to surf," Anna said stubbornly.

  Kai dug his own board into the sand next to Anna's. "You always get what you want?"

  "No," Anna said, but there was a pause in her voice.

  "Usually, though," Kai surmised. "That's how you think life should be, right?"

  Anna brushed the hanks of wet hair back off her face. "If I work hard at something? Yes."

  "So all the people with crappy jobs and crappy lives just don't work hard enough?" Kai mused. "That's your life philosophy?"

  "That's not fair. You're putting words in my mouth."

  "Not really," Kai said. "I'm reading between the lines."

  Did she detect an edge to his voice? They hadn't yet discussed last night. Anna had been raised by a woman who could carry on a pleasant conversation about the weather, while watching pachyderms mate, the old "if you don't acknowledge something, it doesn't exist" philosophy. So Anna's instinct had been to just pretend that last night hadn't happened. But now she realized that that was exactly what her mother would have done. She forced herself not to do it the Jane Percy way.

  "I just want to say that I probably should have thought things through before inviting you to my suite

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  last night," Anna began. "I thought I was ready for ... something ... I wasn't ready for."

  It wasn't exactly direct. But it was the best she could do at the moment. And it was the total truth.

  "It's a sheila's prerogative to change her mind," Kai said.

  "A sheila?"

  Kai laughed. "Aussie slang. A female, I mean. Anyway, no worries. Really."

  He really was being nice about it. One tiny part of Anna was grateful. Another part was tweaked that he wasn't more upset by her rejection of him; ridiculous, she knew, when all she'd ostensibly wanted was a fling.

  "Drink?" he asked. "Joaquin's on duty. He makes a killer margarita."

  "Just some lemonade, if he's got it."

  "This is Las Casitas. We've got it." They went to the Surf Shack bar and perched on a couple of bar stools next to an elderly, distinguished-looking couple who were deep in conversation in Italian. Joaquin poured them two glassfuls of icy lemonade, then brought them a plate of fresh-baked Mexican poppy-seed pastries from the Las Casitas bakery.

  "Bottoms up," Kai toasted. "Life is too short to stress out; that's my motto."

  "You're one of those people who lives only in the present, aren't you?" Anna pondered as Joaquin refilled her glass without her having to ask. "And you just accept whatever happens?"

  "Pretty much," Kai agreed.

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  "No ego involvement?" Anna asked. "No wants? No mountains to climb?"

  "Definitely no mountains to climb," Kai decreed. "That's me."

  It's definitely the opposite of me, Anna thought. Not that my approach has worked out so well.

  "You know, I can almost see your brain synapses firing overtime," Kai went on.

  "I know," Anna admitted. "It's like I can't turn it off. I'm starting to think it's congenital."

  Kai leaned back in his chair. "That's why you can't surf, you know. You have to turn off your brain and just be in your body. Be the wave."

  "Be the wave?" Anna echoed dubiously. "How Zen."

  "It is. Nothing to it but to do it." He grinned. "You know, I'd love to kiss you right now."

  Anna was surprised and flattered. "After what I pulled last night, you still want to kiss me?"

  "Not on the job, though," Kai teased. "But after six..."

  Anna felt much better. Now she knew for sure that he wasn't mad. She might not understand him--his life view was so foreign to her--but she definitely liked him. "After six. Are you sure you want to plan so far in adva--" Anna broke off, mid-word, squinting past Kai at someone heading their way across the sand.

  Kai turned. "What's up?"

  "Unless I'm delusional, that's--"

  "Anna!"

  It was Sam Sharpe, clad in L.A.M.B. black capris and

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  a Bebe yellow halter top, jogging the last hundred feet toward her.

  Anna jumped up, met her halfway, and gave her friend a huge hug. "Sam! What are you doing here?"

  Sam laughed. "Slumming!"

  Kai trotted over. "Hi. I'm Kai. I teach surfing here." He shook Sam's hand. "You're a friend of Anna's?"

  Sam nodded and pointed to the surfboards. "Never would have guessed. I'm Mary Poppins. At least that's the name I used to register."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Poppins. This is the most discreet place on the planet, Ms. Poppins. You'll love it here, Ms. Poppins," Kai assured her. "I'll let you guys catch up. Anna, if you're up for another lesson or anything ..." He let the "anything" hang in the air-- the intent was clear. "You know where to find me,"

  "Tasty," Sam commented, checking out the rear view with approval as Kai went inside the Surf Shack. "You don't waste any time."

  "He's teaching me to surf. Well, trying to, anyway." She punched Sam playfully on the arm. "Now shut up and explain."

  Sam shrugged. "Remembered you were here, got bored with Beverly Hills, planes, trains, automobiles, roll the credits. I hope you're glad to see me."

  "Yes, of course," Anna assured her.

  Sam grinned. "Good. I'm starved. Do you have any idea what living on a thousand calories a day does to a person? It's not pretty."

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  Anna laughed. "Let's go eat--the food is fantastic, you can get anything you want whenever you want-- and you can fill me in on everything."

  "So long as you fill me in on surfer boy," Sam allowed. "He was looking at you like you were a cold drink and he was a hot day."

  Anna didn't feel ready to tell Sam about the seduction that wasn't of the night before, so she deftly deflected the hint. "I will learn to surf by the time I leave here."

  Sam slung an arm around Anna. "Who knows, maybe I will, too."

  "I mean, do I set myself up for this shit
?" Sam mused in between bites of her fried soft-shell crabs. She stopped for a moment to savor the food. "You have no idea how good this is until you've starved yourself for a few weeks."

  Anna knew that was true. "I guess that's one argument for starving yourself."

  "Oh, stop flaunting the fact that you've never had to diet, Anna." Sam blew her a kiss. "Anyway, the question is, how could I possibly have thought that clubbing with Cammie would make me feel anything other than awful? The only hot guy who came on to me was some asshole actor who wanted to get to my dad. I swear, if I'd told him he could read for my father's next movie, he'd have jumped me on the dance floor, fat thighs and all." She took a long sip of her Diet Coke.

  Anna had been through variations on this conversation

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  with Sam many times. But hey, that's what friends were for. "You're not fat, Sam."

  Sam licked some crab off her pinkie. "Oh, please do not start with that, Anna."

  "But you're not. Okay, you're not as skinny as Cammie, maybe--"

  "Or Dee, or you."

  "But so what? Dee's not as smart, and Cammie's not as talented."

  "Gee, that makes me and my cellulite feel ever so much better."

  Supportive having failed, Anna decided to go for blunt. Sam was a tough girl; she could handle it. "Sam, I have only one thing to say: Get over it."

  "Excuse me?"

  Anna swept her arm out. 'You're a beautiful girl. You've got that beautiful brown wavy hair and those deep brown eyes. And besides, look around. We're in paradise! How can you obsess about your thighs in paradise?"

  "Because I just ate my weight in soft-shell crabs and all I can think about is dessert." Sam peered ruefully down at her stomach.

  "So go for the sugar rush!" Anna exclaimed. "Seriously, Sam. Why wreck the experience of being here?"

  A slow grin spread over Sam's face. She took in the scenery--they were eating at the outdoor buffet. It was served in a pavilion that had been built with three sides in open air and one side facing the ocean. But save for her and Anna, the pavilion was completely deserted. To

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  their left and right, though, hovered waiters and bus-boys and a sommelier, in case they wanted to select a perfect bottle of wine to accompany their meal. It was as if the resort were there for their enjoyment alone.

  "You're right," she declared. "I totally suck. This place is unbelievable. Some people come to Los Angeles because they think it's heaven. But heaven is actually Las Casitas. And not just because their chef made the best fried soft-shell crabs I've ever tasted or because I've consumed more calories in the last hour than in the last two weeks put together."

  "Now you're talking. And I'm really glad you're here. But let's have fun, okay?"

  "I was obsessing, wasn't I?"

  Anna nodded. "Kind of."

  "God, I hate girls who do that. Okay. You're right. I hereby declare a moratorium on all things in the real world." Sam looked around. "Where's the dessert table? I have a craving for Dutch chocolate cake with a scoop of mint-chip ice--"

  "Well, hello there."

  Oh no. Anna almost groaned out loud. It was the one and only Lloyd. He leered down at her and Sam with new arm candy. His girl of the moment was a very tall, very slender brunette in a white bikini. Her long dark hair was done in tiny braids all over her head, and she had a small piercing in her navel. Lloyd wore an open Hawaiian shirt and orange surfer jams. His hairy toes were still on display in the same water buffalo moccasins.

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  "Hello, Lloyd," Anna greeted him with exaggerated politeness, then cocked her chin at Sam. "This is Mary Poppins. She just arrived today."

  The girl with Lloyd giggled. "How could your parents name you Mary when your last name is--I hope I'm not offending you," she added hastily.

  Lloyd pointed to the girl on his arm. "This is Jennifer from Wisconsin."

  "Washington," Jennifer corrected.

  "Right." Lloyd patted her hand, then turned back to Anna and Sam. "Mind?"

  Without waiting for their answer, he pulled two wrought-iron chairs over to their table and motioned for Jennifer to sit in one of them. She did, and then he slid in next to her.

  "Lloyd works for my father," Anna explained to Sam. "Nice to see you, Lloyd, but we were in the middle of a private conversation."

  "Hey, way too serious," Lloyd insisted. He draped an arm around Jennifer and regarded Sam. "I'm down here to do some business."

  "You should see the dining room table in his casita. It's covered in a sea of paper. And there's a laptop!" Jennifer put in, as if Lloyd were working for the CIA.

  "But we don't need to talk about business." Anna tried to redirect the conversation. She didn't think her father would want it to be common knowledge that Lloyd was there to check the place over for a possible syndication buyout.

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  "You're making some good sense there, Anna," Lloyd said, giving Anna a quick wink okay. "Got it."

  "So, what do you do in Washington?" Sam asked Jennifer.

  "I don't spend much time there. I'm mostly in Europe. I'm a model."

  "Who would have guessed?" Sam quipped.

  Lloyd turned to Sam. "So, Miss Poppins. Enjoying your identity?"

  "Sure. I just flew in on my parrot-handle umbrella."

  Lloyd winked again. "I assure you I'm the soul of discretion, Mary, although from a psychological point of view you might want to consider why you selected a pseudonym that is so obviously a pseudonym. It betrays a certain ambivalence; that you need the cachet of being someone I should know while at the same time you resent it."

  "Gee, let me write that down," Sam deadpanned.

  "Also," Lloyd continued, "if we look at it from the standpoint of the laws of probability--the class of people here, et cetera, et cetera--the odds of being recognized are high. But if the secretary general of the UN and Sting are happy to vacation here under their own names, I don't see what you're afraid of."

  "Know what, Lloyd? I've got a great idea. How about we pretend that we haven't met?" She stood. "We leaving, Anna?"

  "We are." Anna rose, too.

  "Regarding you and the surfing teacher," Lloyd called

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  after Anna. "You might want to watch that fraternizing-with-the-employees thing. It might cloud your judgment."

  Sam shook her head as she walked away. "What an asshole."

  "No kidding," Anna agreed. "The trip down here was hell on wheels."

  "You mean you drove here with him?"

  Anna waved a dismissive hand. "It's a long story that you don't want to hear. But trust me, he is truly as loathsome as he seems."

  "Well, then, we'll just have to ignore the hairy toad," Sam decreed. "Or is it hairy toed?" She pointed toward her feet.

  Anna cracked up. "You noticed his toes! Aren't they vile?"

  Sam made a face. "Beyond vile." She looped an arm around Anna's waist. "So what's next on our agenda?"

  "There's a street dance in the 'village' tonight," Anna said. "Kai told me it's amazing. We could check that out."

  "Excellent," Sam agreed. "Because personally, I am up for anything." She paused. "Except Lloyd."

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  Platform Goth Queen Boots

  C ammie couldn't quite figure out how she'd gotten where she was: driving her own car, with Adam in the passenger seat, on her way to the winter Coachella, an outdoor music festival in the desert.

  After the sprinkler debacle at Au Mer, they'd walked down to Breakers on the Beach--another elegant Santa Monica beachfront hotel--and stopped in the lobby bar for coffee. Then, out of the blue, Adam's cell had rung. After a lot of "uh-huh's" and a few "sweet's" he'd hung up, eyes shining.

  It had been one of his basketball buds. The guy had two tickets to that night's concert in Coachella, but his girlfriend had suddenly come down with strep. Did Adam want the ducats? All he had to do was pick them up at will call.

  Cammie had vaguely heard of Coachella, just like she'd vaguel
y heard of the concerts at Woodstock. And wasn't there some other feminist music festival thing where a lot of ugly hairy women who didn't wax sang plaintive songs about being ugly and hairy? She wasn't

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  much of a festivalgoer. Why should she be, when she could get into the hippest, most exclusive clubs in Los Angeles, to see the top name artists? When she could hear U2 at a private party at House of Blues or Usher at a friend's birthday party? Why would anyone mingle with the unwashed masses unless they didn't have an option?

  So she feigned enthusiasm when Adam raved that his favorite band, the Donnas, would be performing. Really, though, she wondered why he preferred a two-hour-plus schlep to the desert to hear bands she rarely listened to over reconvening at an alternate location to consummate the unconsummated.

  God, love sucked so hard. She would have done almost anything for Adam, including things he'd probably only read about on the Internet. Hell, if he'd invited her to Daytona Beach to see a NASCAR race, she would have said yes ... and she didn't even know exactly what NASCAR was.

  Coachella. The Donnas. This was definitely not her life. But if it made Adam happy, she was ready to give it a one hundred percent Cammie Sheppard effort.

  They stopped at her house so she could change clothes. When he waited downstairs, she did a quick computer search on the Donnas. Up came their photo: four punk girls with long straight hair, wearing Levi's, sneakers, little T-shirts, and attitude. Ugh. So not her style.

  First stop: the world's fastest flat-ironing job on her hair. Second stop: her stepsister Mia's closet, which she raided for a pair of Levi's, a Chaminade High School

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  sweatshirt, and a down vest. Double ugh. But it did look vaguely Donnas-esque, plus she'd be warm. February nights in the desert got very chilly.

  She drew the line at sneakers, though, going instead with her retro Moschino orange velvet lace-up boots with the three-inch stiletto heels. They'd look hot with anything, even the horror of an outfit she was wearing.

  Adam reached across from the passenger seat and squeezed her knee. "You look really cute, did I tell you that?"

  "Thanks."

  He took a CD out of his jacket pocket. "I'm gonna play the Donnas. Like a warm-up. Okay?"